Redefining L'Cie
by Cocoon02
Summary: Some volunteer, and some are chosen. But in the end, l'Cie are all the same. At least, that's what they thought.


**Author's Note:** Hey! This is a story I've been thinking about doing for a while, but I've only recently started writing it down. Basically, this fic follows the general plotline of the original XIII (of which I own nothing), but with one "_teeny tiny" _difference. It will be almost immediately obvious, and it changes _everything_. Plus, you know, other plot stuff.

Anywho, I really hope you like this first chapter. I wasn't sure if I wanted to post this, but a couple of my friends talked me into it, so here we are! If you could review when you're done to let me know if listening to my friends was a good idea, that would be great! But, of course, you don't have to.

I'll shut up now.

* * *

Prologue-

Vanille held tight to the edge of her seat as the train rattled through another tunnel. The woman next to her clung to her child even more fiercely than she had been the whole trip. The poor little guy began to fuss, though it sounded like it was more from constriction than fear. He was too young to understand what was happening to them, anyway.

One of the soldiers stationed in their car turned the lifeless yellow eyes of his helmet toward them. The woman immediately began to hush her baby.

That was actually the nicest thing Vanille had seen anyone do the entire time she's been on Cocoon: letting the woman keep her baby. Though, on the other hand, if the whispers between the guards she'd heard were true, it might've been nicer to take him away.

Her stomach clenched at the thought, and she inhaled deeply. No matter what, she had made her decision. She didn't run when the soldiers came for them, and she didn't fight when they shoved her on the train. If they were headed straight for a bloodbath, at least she had chosen her own path.

She was exhaling when she heard the first explosion.

* * *

Chapter One-

Vanille and the other deportees were assembled in a location that had been deemed "secure" by the vigilantes that had freed them from the train. Until the leader of the group arrived to clear a path for them, they were to stay put. Vanille used that time to speak to the woman with the baby, and learned that her name was Mora, and the child's name was Hope. She also learned that the pair wasn't even from Badhum at all, and shouldn't have been on the train in the first place. As a fresh barrage of gunfire and explosions sounded around them, Vanille thought that at least they had each other. Her companion had left her days ago.

"Would you watch him for a minute?" Nora asked her suddenly.

Vanille nodded. "Sure." She replied, taking the baby from his mother. Nora smiled gratefully, stood, and began to pace worriedly.

The delicate silver-haired baby in Vanille's arms looked up at her, and she swore his adorable ocean eyes expressed curiosity, even intelligence. But perhaps she was reading a bit too much. She gave him a smile, and put her finger near his little hand illiciting the response she sought. His tiny fingers gripped her one with all the strength he could muster, which, as with most babies, surprised her at first. She wiggled her finger, making it almost look like they were shaking hands, when above the sounds of war, someone called, "Boss!"

Everyone looked towards the call as three people ran up, looking worn out from fighting yet hyped up on adrenaline at the same time. A big, blond man responded to the call, while the others - another man and a woman - just listened as they caught their breath.

Something akin to tension built up in the air as the deportees waited. This was the man they'd been waiting for. Now that he was there, he could tell them what to do and get them out of this horrible mess. They hoped. Vanille's eyes darted between the blond man and the baby's mother as more explosions marked the passage of time.

After maybe a few minutes, their potential savior turned away from his pals and faced the rest of them. "All right," he said, "here's the plan. You guys are safe here for now, so this is where you'll stay until we can clear a path out of here-"

"What are you talking about!?" One man interrupted angrily. "You can't expect us to let you do all the dirty work! We were _all_ kicked from our homes, not just you!"

The last remark provoked a chorus of similar protests, which caused baby Hope to whimper. Vanille tried to soothe him before his whimpers became cried, looking to his mother for help, or even relief. But Nora was fixated on the leader of the group, waiting.

"All right, all right!" He finally shouted, as the declarations became silence. "We've got a couple extra weapons. First come, first serve, and _no one_ leaves here without one! It's too dangerous."

The people came forward, and distribution began. As gun after gun was placed into hand after hand, Vanille kept her eye on Nora. She made no move to retrieve her child, and seemed to be debating stepping forward herself. Surely not, she thought, after all, she has Hope to care for.

But as the supply of weapons dwindled, Nora finally glanced back at her. Looking both had and determined, she joined the volunteers.

Vanille attempted to cry out, but the sound stuck in her throat. She couldn't go out there, she could die! Assuming the rest of them lived through this civil war, what would happen to her son if she did? Vanille herself certainly was no mother, and she didn't know if the little guy had any other family, or where they might be. She didn't even know anyone else on the whole planet, for that matter. Aside from Fang, but she'd gone off on her own days ago. But, she realized with a surge of hope, maybe the leader wouldn't let her go. Maybe he would stop her.

He watched her closely as the men in front of her were handed weapons. When her turn came, and she started to reach for a gun, he stepped forward, and she straightened, probably having anticipated this very action.

Vanille's heart raced as the leader picked up the gun Nora had been reaching for and held it loosely in his hand. He simply looked at her for a few seconds, and then spoke. Vanille couldn't hear what he said to her, or her response. What she did hear, was Hope's cry when the gun was handed over to his mother. When she looked down at the child in her arms, his strong little hand was reaching out for the woman who'd left him behind.

Vanille's heart broke.

The blond man looked very unsure about the decision he'd just made. He glanced back at his female friend, who nodded. The simple gesture clearly meant, "Time to go."

With no hesitation, the man turned once again to the crowd, the ones too scared or unable to fight, and said with authority, "This is it, we're heading out! We'll be back when the coast is clear to go somewhere safe! We won't let you get Purged!"

At this, what looked to be the youngest two of the group stepped forward and shouted, "The army's no match for NORA!"

* * *

The wait was unbearable. For some, there were friends, even family out there in that hell. They thought they were numb to the constant stream of bullets, but every round, every explosion wound every deportee up just a little tighter. One man had taken to pacing oh so loudly with his heavy boots. Being near his relative route, Vanille could feel each step he took every time he passed by. Others were doing the exact opposite, and staying almost completely still. Some observing the carnage, others staring at their feet, and yet still others who were looking off at nothing at all.

Vanille herself was still caring for Hope, of course. What else could she do? At this point, she was actually grateful. The small child served as a distraction from the horror that surrounded them. He had contended himself with once again taking her finger into his grasp and waving it around like a flag. It was almost hypnotizing, watching him. _Almost_ being the operative word.

She was painfully aware of the sudden shout, "Oh, goddess! Oh, goddess!"

People flooded to the man's desperate cry, insect mutterings of wonder lining the sounds of war. Vanille's inbred curiosity caused her to follow, carefully cradling her charge.

The group that had left them was across the air on a parallel suspended street, fighting for their lives. However, it wasn't the opposition from the army that was the problem.

The problem was the giant airship flying their way.

Poisonous fear of this vessel spread like wildfire. The remaining refugees cried out in every emotion under the sun as they grieved the obvious fate of their loved ones. Vanille pressed baby Hope closer to her as her heart dropped to her toes, searching for his mother. Nora was down there somewhere.

It was hard for her to follow the fighting. Civilians and solders alike were scrambling about for better cover, or to help their comrades. Explosions from other fights rendered it difficult for her to see properly, not to mention the light from the airship, which seemed to be charging up some find of weapon.

Which it was.

The screaming started before the explosion, but the wail would never end, not really. Bubble from the street and bodies of soldiers and civilians both dropped like rocks, though it seemed more like leaves. Floating, ever so slowly, towards the inevitable. And it was then, watching the tree die, that Vanille found her.

Nora.

She and the blond man were dangling precariously on a section of street that was broken, but hadn't quite fallen. She was hanging limply, connected to the world only by the blond man's hand, while he was connected only by his other.

Vanille's heart fell through her toes. She was dead. She had to be. Hope began to squirm in her arms, so she looked down to see if he was okay-

-and Nora fell.

She buried the child's face in her chest as his mother fell down, down, out of sight. Then her legs began to crumble beneath her. She broke free of the crowd and stumbled to a crate, sitting very roughly atop it. She held Hope loosely now, sitting him on her legs so she could see his face. He just stared back at her, unconcerned and unaware. To his knowledge, not at all alone.

She wished to trade places, just for a moment.

The thought barely crossed her mind when she realized: Nora was head, and she was holding her son.


End file.
